


A Piece Of You That's Here With Me

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 04:53:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4593561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A long time ago, Irene Adler and Janine Hawkins fell in love. It didn’t last, but it stayed in their hearts. As time went on they changed, molded themselves into different people, offered bits of themselves to others. But in the end, the largest parts of their hearts belonged to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Piece Of You That's Here With Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sumi/gifts).



> And another story for my "Thirteen Fluffy Fics For Thirteen Ships" challenge, though this one's a _tad_ bit more angsty. An answer to **Sumi's** 2015 Summer Holmestice prompt of _Janine happens to be Irene’s ex_. I remembered she liked angst with happy endings so hopefully this delivers! The song used in the story is "Ocean Avenue" by Yellowcard (and it's a really great song with an electric violin so, you know, check it out).

  
_{we were both eighteen and it felt so right_  
_sleeping all day, staying up all night_  
_staying up all night}_  


She’d fallen in love with her at first sight.

She’d never admit it, of course. And in hindsight that had probably been a problem. If she had admitted it, if she had just told her that she was madly and truly in love with her, their lives could have been vastly different. She wouldn’t have gotten mixed up with Moriarty and all that mess, and Janine wouldn’t have gotten mixed up with Magnussen and all _that_ mess, and Sherlock Holmes probably wouldn’t have meant anything to either of them. But she never said anything to her and they’d drifted apart and Janine had become her biggest regret.

But oh, in those heady days…they had been young, and it hadn’t mattered that people looked down on them. They were happy. They were blissfully happy. They’d stay awake all night, exploring each other and pleasuring each other and talking and staying close, and they would sleep together during the day, tangled up in sheets with their arms and legs entwined, hair splayed on pillows. They huddled together at cafes and pubs and at cinemas, staying as close as they could. They were inseparable for a full year and a half.

But then Janine got called away, had to go back to Ireland. She wasn’t sure she’d be back. Family issues and all of that. Her father was ill and her family didn’t understand, and they were very insistent she leave her behind, she leave their relationship behind. Janine promised she’d try and stay in touch, try and come back to her, but things happened. Life happened. When Janine finally came back to England three years later, she was a different woman. They both were. There was no going back to what they had.

She had kept an eye open for Janine, tracked her as she made her way about in London, built a life for herself. She had wanted to warn her about Magnussen and the trouble that would lead to. She was a blackmailer, she knew the trouble they could cause, the damage they could inflict, and she wanted to save Janine from that. Perhaps if she had, things might have been different. There might have been far less damage done to everyone involved in this whole mess. But that was a regret she would have to live with, unfortunately. One on an ever growing list of regrets that grew longer by the hour, it seemed.

Even now, though, years later, Janine still held almost all of her heart. She was willing to share it with a very select few; Kate had a portion, and she’d been willing to give a portion of it to Sherlock, but if she wanted to be well and truly honest with herself Janine had more of her heart than she would ever willingly give to anyone else. She had fallen fast and hard, and even though time and distance had separated them, seemingly for good, she would never love anyone as much, she knew that.

  
_{if i could find you now things would get better_  
_we could leave this town and run forever_  
_let your waves crash down on me and take me away}_  


She’d fallen in love with her at first sight.

She should have told her. She should have told her every day, every time they were near. She should have said it over and over until Irene told her to stop, that she knew, but with that smile on her face that told her she should tell her ten more times. She had loved Irene more than she loved anyone else in her life, either up until then or ever since, and the woman didn’t even know. It was one of the largest regrets of her life, one of her biggest. 

She had enjoyed every minute that she was with Irene, every second. Some of the best moments of her life had involved Irene, the moments where they ignored the world and focused on each other. She had loved staying huddled in the flat Irene had, curled up in the bed under the duvet or snuggling on the sofa. She enjoyed drinking bottles of cheap wine and cooking up food in the small kitchenette, taking them back to the sofa to balance on their laps to eat since Irene didn’t have a table. They’d smoke low tar cigarettes on the balcony while they sat out with their legs intertwined and just talk and talk about anything and everything that came to mind.

Her family had disapproved, though, quite strongly. When her father got ill they called her back home and then did everything they could to convince her to give Irene up. She tried fighting them, tried to get back to England, to Irene, but it was to no avail. She spent three years in Ireland, missing the woman she loved with all her heart. By the time she went back to England, free of her family, free to live her own life, Irene was a different woman. And, admittedly, so was she. They couldn’t go back to what they’d had, couldn’t make up for what they’d lost.

It wasn’t hard to follow what Irene was doing. The infamous Woman, living her life and playing the field with little regard for others. The tabloids loved to report on her, the public loved to gossip about her, and she seemed to live for the spotlight. But no one, it seemed, actually loved her, and she found that quite sad. When it came out that she had died, alone and brutally, she had sobbed for hours, her heart broken. She’d tried to open herself to others, up to and including Sherlock Holmes, but none of them were Irene. None of them would have her whole heart.

The one good thing Charles had done, the only thing she could truly thank him for, was informing her that Irene was alive, that her death had been a hoax. He had meant it in passing, to say he could do the same, only better, but she felt a spring of hope well up inside her. Perhaps, if fate was kind, they could have a second chance.

  
_{there's a piece of you that's here with me_  
_it's everywhere i go, it's everything i see_  
_When i sleep, i dream and it gets me by_  
_i can make believe that you're here tonight_  
_that you're here tonight}_  


They dreamed. They slept and they dreamed about each other, about the times they’d shared, the past they’d had, the future they could have shared. They dreamed, and it helped to make the days better. But soon, dreams weren’t enough. Dreams were only dreams; they only lasted while eyes were closed and someone was dead to the world. Dreams were not for the living. Action was for the living.

It took some time. Irene was still pretending to be dead, and Janine could only call in so many favours from people she had met in her association with Magnussen. But after some assistance from Sherlock, perhaps in an attempt to make amends for what he had done to them both, Janine found herself pacing inside her cottage in Sussex, waiting for what could be the best or the worst moment of her life. Would this be a dream come true or a nightmare wrought to life?

There was a knock at the door and Janine straightened, going to it. She opened it, looking face to face for the first time in years with Irene. She looked just as lovely as she had before, even though she looked different. Her hair was straight now, not wavy. Light brown, not dark. And it was short, far shorter than she remembered, just barely brushing the tops of her shoulders. But oh, she looked just as lovely as she had. “Irene,” she said with a smile.

“Janine,” Irene said, her own smile wide and bright. There was only a momentary pause, a second of awkwardness, before she leaned in and kissed Janine’s cheek. Irene did the same. “It’s wonderful to see you.”

“I’m glad to see you, too,” she said. They pulled apart and then Janine moved away from her. “Come in.”

Irene came into the cottage and looked around. “Pulled one over on the blackmailer?” she asked approvingly.

“I did,” Janine said with a nod. “Made a mint off the story.”

“Was any of it true?” Irene asked, chuckling softly.

“Not a word.”

“I always did gather he was a virgin,” Irene said with a smile. 

“Well, he’s good at snogging,” Janine said. “Did you ever get that far?”

Irene shook her head. “No.”

“Ah,” Janine said. She gestured to her sofa, where there was a tea set on the table in front of it. Janine poured Irene some tea. “He helped me find you.”

“I know,” Irene said. “When he tracked me down he said it was quite important that I speak to you. I was worried something had happened, that you had been hurt, but he just said that you should keep in touch with the ones you love.”

Janine looked down. “So he knew I loved you,” she said quietly.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “And I think he figured out within seconds of bringing you up that I was in love with you as well.”

Janine looked up at her after a moment, tilting her head. “Things should have gone so differently,” she said.

“They should have,” Irene agreed with a nod. Then she hesitated a moment before reaching over and putting a hand on Janine’s knee. “That doesn’t mean things can’t change now. You haven’t been far from my mind over the years.”

Janine felt a grin form on her face. “You’ve been on my mind as well,” she said.

“Good,” Irene said. “Then let’s talk and see where things lead now. You and I…we have years to make up for.”

“Yes, we certainly do,” Janine said, her smile growing bigger as she went back to pouring the tea. She was in luck; it looked as though this would be a dream come true, and if she was _very_ lucky, it might be a dream that never ended.


End file.
